


Trick House

by tromana



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Community: mentalist_bb, Drama, F/M, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tromana/pseuds/tromana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red John has lured Jane to a place where he has to revisit some of his deepest, darkest memories. The race is on for Lisbon and the team to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Mentalist Reverse Big Bang 2012. Please look at the wonderful artwork which inspired this piece by aprilvolition.

He stared up at the house in front of him. The building was dilapidated, in a state of extreme disrepair. In fact, it looked like it should have been sporting a 'Danger, Unsafe, Do Not Enter' sign, though it was lacking on that front. That didn't put him off, however. Nothing would at the moment. The letter that lay in the pocket of his jacket felt more foreboding than a house that simply looked like it was in need of some love and attention. Though, it was not threatening enough to quash the incorrigible itch that had slowly driven him mad over the last couple of days. It was only now that his sheer intrigue had grown so unbearable that he had to find out exactly what the note was summoning him to, and why. Tentatively, he took a step forward and started trying to absorb it all in. Nothing much was coming to him, at least not yet.

Just as soon as he was going to head towards the porch, his cell phone starting ringing shrilly. With a grumble, he pulled it out and stared at the screen. He was completely unsurprised when he saw it was Lisbon who was calling him; the woman was predictable to the extreme. Still, he decided to answer the call. Jane knew that he might as well humor the woman; otherwise he knew that she would give him short shrift when he got back from whatever it was he was needed for here. Of late, she had been pushing him more than before, possibly as punishment for his latest antics. He couldn't blame her for that; if anything, she deserved to push him away.

"Hey, Lisbon."

"Jane," she acknowledged quickly, before continuing, "where the hell are you?"

"Out," he answered back.

"Ha, ha," she said, sounding surprisingly wan. "We have a case."

"I know."

"Then why aren't you at work?"

"I'm busy."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Stuff."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really."

When he'd received the note, it had seemed suitably ominous. Jane had toyed with the concept of telling her about it. After all, he had had enough time and given enough thought to the matter. The fact that Lisbon had been prompted to ask him if he was okay on more than one occasion was evidence enough that it had made him start acting out of sorts. And besides, the writer had told to come alone and he always had a habit of being contrary to direct instructions. Instead, he had pushed aside his concerns and decided against it. For a start, he already knew that this had something to do with Red John, and if he was going to get any closer to the serial killer, he didn't want Lisbon or the team to get in the way. Not just because he wanted - needed to silence his demons from all those years ago, but also because he desperately didn't want to see her, or any of the others for that matter, get hurt.

Jane had already lost too many people he cared about to the serial killer. He wasn't about to add any more to the list. Anybody he grew close to ran the risk of being slaughtered by Red John; for their own protection, he had to start rebuilding the barriers that had long since crumbled down.

And besides, it just felt like this was a quest he needed to carry out on his own. He was perfectly capable of dictating anything he found out from this excursion to Lisbon or one of the others. Jane just wanted the space and time to really think about what it was he discovered first. He'd tell them in due course, it was just something that was going to take a little time.

"Doing what, exactly?" she persisted, as she had every right to do so. After all, she  _was_  his boss.

"Meh, it wouldn't interest you."

"Who says?"

"Do you really want to know the contents of my sock drawer?" he lied smoothly.

"Okay, I've heard enough," she said and he could just imagine he scrunching her eyes up tightly and holding up a hand in protest. "Jane, we need you."

He already had a hunch that she was just saying that to make sure that he sounded like he was wanted. There was just enough of a touch of fear in her voice to convince him that really, she just needed to know that he wasn't in trouble, or causing it for that matter. After all, he knew for a fact that she liked having her own space once in a while, instead of having to endure having him in her hair.

"Can't I take some personal time?"

"Now, Jane, really?" she asked, exasperated.

"How important is this case?"

She remained silent for a brief second or so. That told him all that he needed to know. While his expertise would have been appreciated, they were perfectly capable of working this specific crime scene without him. As a consequence, it made his decision all the easier.

"It's work, Jane, of course it's important."

"And that, my dear, isn't exactly an answer."

"So?"

Jane almost laughed; if he was allowed to only give her half-answers to questions, then it was only fair that she had the same luxury every once in a while. After all, it was something he abused on a day to day basis, much to her irritation.

"Fine," she eventually said, relenting before he had even needed to say any more. "Just be careful, okay?"

"What makes you think I'm doing anything dangerous?"

"And call me if you need anything, okay?" she continued, not even listening to his previous question.

"Yes, boss."

"Shut up, Jane," she snapped, only half meaning it.

Ending the call, Jane returned his attention to the house in front of him. It didn't appear to be a particularly big house from the outside, maybe only had four rooms or so. As he walked up the steps to the porch, the wooden boards creaked angrily, not particularly happy to be used. The sun continued beating down on him and Jane was relieved to be in the shade. He allowed his fingers to run across the wood of the front door, intrigued by it all. Though it was firmly shut, it wasn't locked. Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.

It was now or never, he mused.

He hoped that he'd made the right decision when he'd considered coming out here on his own.

The first thing he saw, somewhat predictably, was a blood red smiley face.

And underneath:  _welcome to_ _my_ _memory palace, Patrick Jane._


	2. Part One

It was raining by the time that Lisbon reached the crime scene. She scowled; so much for the blazing sunshine that they had been blessed with earlier in the morning. Just because California was famed for its bright weather, it didn't mean that it couldn't turn on a dime on occasion. She hurried to join the [rest](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8480123/2/) of her team; Van Pelt and Rigsby were huddled under an umbrella, while Cho had decided to brave the elements. A little bit of water never hurt anyone. Well, except for the Wicked Witch of the West, but that didn't particularly count. Lisbon smiled weakly as she joined them, but nobody said a word.

She was still in a peculiar mood; it always worried her whenever Jane chose to skip out on a crime scene. They, after all, provided him with a significant amount of insight into what the victim had been like as a person. On occasion and it was still somewhat baffling to her, he had even managed to provide them with a plausible motive for murder. And besides, since his faked breakdown, Bertram had personally hailed her to his office. Not to fire her, thanks to the bogus arrest by the lunatics at the FBI as she had expected, but to personally request she kept an even closer eye on her errant consultant. It was a job she had taken on more than willingly; however, she suspected that Jane knew she had been keeping even closer tabs on him than beforehand. That was something that had probably irritated him no end; as far as he was concerned, he didn't need a boss, never mind a babysitter.

And the fact that he had now taken to avoiding her entirely, rather than just skirting around certain issues, was worrisome. With Patrick Jane, that translated to one thing and one thing only in her mind: trouble.

"You alright, boss?" Van Pelt asked as they approached the house.

"Fine," she lied though it was obvious she was anything but. "What do we got?"

Cho updated her on the case, as Rigsby lamented about the fact she was a mom with a young daughter. Cases involving children had hit them harder ever since Rigsby had been thrust into fatherhood. It was a role that, despite his reservations, he had been practically designed for. Barely a day went by when he didn't enchant (and irritate) the others with descriptions of the antics of young Benjamin. Generally, it made Lisbon smile; partially because it showed just how much Rigsby had grown as a person, but mostly because she hadn't been subjected to it as much as the other two had been. When Lisbon discovered that the kid was missing too, she grew even more disconcerted. However, that was a concern that she knew would have to wait until later. For now, they had a body to inspect.

When she realized that the coroner on this particular case was Pat, Lisbon breathed a sigh of relief. During Jane's disappearance, Pat had proved to be a godsend, offering her support at a time when she'd felt like she had none. As a consequence, the pair of them had bonded closely. She nodded her acknowledgement at the coroner as she let them into the house and led them through to the lounge, where the body was apparently located. A somber mood hung in the air, as it often did at a crime scene. The black humor of what they did for a living would come later; for now, they had to respect the dead.

Lisbon took one look at the body of Julie Coulson and her heart immediately sank. She could recognize that very specific cutting style anywhere. There was one minor difference, however; she was missing the index and pinkie fingers from her left hand. Despite that, Lisbon immediately scanned the rest of the modest lounge desperately. The only thing that appeared out of place was a smashed glass; presumably, the woman had dropped it when she had been taken off guard by her murderer. However, that wasn't the kind of clue she was looking for. No, she was desperately searching out for something far more ostentatious than that.

There hadn't been any macabre etchings on the woman's body, excepting the marks inflicted on her by a knife blade. And it wasn't hidden in plain sight either; cleverly located in a photograph or the painting that hung on the wall.

Slowly, Lisbon rounded on Pat, who took a step back, clearly worried about the panic in her eyes. Then again, as far as Lisbon was concerned, she had every right to be panicked. Damn it, she knew there had been a reason why she felt like Jane needed to see this specific crime scene. She had felt it right the way down to her bones; almost like a Jane-hunch, she surmised. And instead, he was god knows where rather than picking what had suddenly changed from a mundane crime scene to one of immense importance.

"Where's his calling card?" she asked and Pat frowned. "Where's the smiley face?"

"There isn't one."

"But it's just like Red John…"

Pat carefully reached out and Lisbon flinched uncomfortably as her fingers grazed her left shoulder. She was far too agitated for comfort like this. After brushing aside the coroner, Lisbon took another step closer to the body, this time to scrutinize it thoroughly, to make sure that she wasn't making any rookie errors. The missing fingers didn't throw her off guard; after all, Jane had informed her of the instructions Red John had barked at Lorelei that one time. Two fingers - it didn't matter which. And as Julie was missing precisely two fingers, she couldn't help but wonder if it was some sort of a message.

That and she held a fleeting resemblance to Red John's ally too. The woman had never talked. In the end, Red John had somehow gotten hold of her once more and their link to him had disappeared like sand through an hourglass. Lisbon was still hurting about that, but she didn't doubt that Jane was reeling from the blow even more. It had certainly made things all the more tempestuous between them, and she just wished she could fix him, somehow. However, she had pretty much run out of tricks in her arsenal and was simply relying upon picking up the pieces whenever that was required of her.

But that didn't change the simple fact that this was one of those rare occasions when  _she_  needed  _him_. The fact that she felt so certain that this was Red John without his assistance was worrying. Whenever it came to Red John, she was always skeptical about his hunches and had often claimed that he'd tried to see things that weren't there. His usually impeccable skills were always off-kilter when he was faced with Red John. And yet, here she was, feeling the way that he presumably did. And she didn't like it one iota.

"I know," Pat answered slowly, "but it is possible that this is just a coincidence."

"There's no such thing as coincidence when it comes to Red John."

The others nodded in assent. She knew that her determination to prove that Red John was responsible for Julie Coulson's death had unnerved them. Why would anyone actively want the serial killer to have murdered somebody? And besides, if it was Red John, it made the damn thing all the more complicated. Nothing was simple whenever he was on the scene. Lisbon shook her head once more and stared sadly at the body. If she was right, that meant the Coulson family wouldn't get the closure they deserved. Or at least, it was going to be infinitely more difficult. Slowly, she stood and stared at the others. All of them were practically cowering.

"Are you  _sure_ there isn't anything?" Lisbon said persistently.

Pat nodded and Lisbon's frown deepened. Cho and Rigsby exchanged cautious glances that didn't go unnoticed, but at that moment in time, she didn't care. Instead, she locked eyes on the painting once more. Ordinarily, this was the place where Red John would leave his mark, to ensure that the world knew he was responsible for this specific death. Immediately, Lisbon closed the distance between herself and that picture of a forest with a buck in the foreground and much to her co-workers shock, she roughly pulled it off the wall. This was her last ditch attempt to prove her point and she sincerely hoped she was right. Otherwise, they would have every right to say she hadn't gotten her touch back.

And naturally, there was nothing. So, he hadn't covered it up in the style of an amateur, either.

She bunched her hand into a fist and felt the desperate urge to punch something. It wasn't fair. Whenever Jane had a feeling like this, he was rewarded instantaneously. And yet, when she tried it, she landed up looking like a fool in front of people who she craved the respect of. The anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach. It seemed so obvious; she was so convinced that her thoughts had been right.

When she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, Lisbon wheeled around and Van Pelt was lucky not to get a blow to the head.

"Boss? This came loose from behind the painting."

She snatched it out of the younger agent's hand and made a mental note to apologize for her erratic behavior later. It was just a simple receipt from the local grocery store and Lisbon nearly screwed it up in frustration.

When she looked at the back, she was thankful she hadn't. Alongside an obscure set of numbers laid exactly what she had been looking for: the Red John smiley face.

xxx

Jane glanced around the house and on each of the four doors a red number had been painted on them. He scrutinized the number one, trying to work out whether or not it had been daubed in blood or paint. Suddenly, he shuddered; this was Red John, of course it was going to be blood. The question was whose. He knew the team was okay; he'd even spoken to Lisbon relatively recently and she hadn't expressed any concern for the others. Of late, whenever the serial killer took somebody's life, there was usually due course or reason behind it. It was either because that person had hurt his 'integrity' one way or another, or simply because he knew that it would deeply affect Jane time Red John killed to seek out revenge, it made Jane feel partially guilty. It was his fault for letting people get too close to him; because of him, they were being drawn into Red John's games, becoming pawns of some variety.

It was the reason why he had taken to keeping Lisbon at arm's length at all times. He'd slipped up pretty badly on occasion, and that had only made things all the worse. Now, he knew for certain that his boss was on the serial killer's radar. Red John had confirmed it as such when he'd suggested that she would make the perfect sacrifice in order for Jane to show his new-found loyalty. Like he were some sort of a god, who needed blood sacrifice left on his altar of worship. Jane knew he should have expected something like that when he'd started that elaborate trick; Red John always seemed to have ideas above his station. And of course, Jane would never have played that card. For a start, he wasn't about to sacrifice anyone in order to get into Red John's inner circle. However much he wanted him dead, that was a price he simply could not pay. Except for, maybe, his own life of course.

But now, even his death would have consequences on people he cared about deeply. (Or loved, even?) There had once been a time when he hadn't believed there could be such a thing as a life after Red John. Now, he just wanted to be past it to be able to finally put those demons to bed and move on in the ways he really wanted to.

Still, he decided to worry about the blood dilemma later. Instead, he pushed the wooden door open slowly and took his first tentative steps into the room. Starting with room number one seemed like as good a place as any to start. He hadn't been given direct instructions about which room to investigate first, excepting the numbers, of course. If he had, then maybe he would have chosen to behave more contrarily. However, it just felt logical, if a little predictable by most people's standards, to begin there.

On a whim, he briefly changed his mind and decided to try each of the other doors in turn. As his fingers clasped around the doorknobs and he tried to twist, they stubbornly refused to budge. Numbers two, three and four had all been locked. Red John had expected him to behave in this way and this was how he was being manipulated into behaving as he should. Then, he scrutinized the hallway; clearly, he was being monitored in some way, shape or form, otherwise, how would Red John be able to control which room he entered, and when? The bugs and cameras weren't obvious, but Jane was certain they were there. It was just too dimly lit to be able to see them clearly. Sure enough, when he ran his hands along a wall, he felt the telltale sign of wiring underneath his fingertips. And finally, that led to the dawning realization that it was impossible for him to be alone in this house.

His eyes were slowly dragged to the floor and he was rewarded with the sight of a hatch. So, there was a cellar in this old building. However, that too had been painted on, with the number five. Clearly, that was destined to be his last port of call before leaving.

Unless…

Jane headed straight back to the front door, but as he expected, that too had been locked. Instead, he returned his attention to the number one. It looked like he had no other choices at this moment in time. Besides, if he really didn't like what he saw, he knew he could at least try and duck out of a window, if nothing else.

The room was dim when Jane took his first tentative steps inside. Slowly, but surely as he approached the center of it, the lights brightened. Soon enough, he was presented with a lounge. The couch was a bright red, dressed with a purple comforter and cushions to match. Underfoot were polished floorboards; the quality of them certainly didn't match the shambolic shack that featured on the outside of the building. Along a mantelpiece laid several photographs of a happy family and a couple of some pet dogs. Jane headed towards them, and lifted one off to investigate further.

After all, he was having a strange sense of deja vu, and yet, was struggling to quite place it all.

The smiling face of a woman peered back at him and then, it hit him. This wasn't Red John's first murder, not like he'd partially expected, based on the message outside of the room. Instead, it was his fifth. A woman named Sophia Earnshaw. She'd just given birth to her second child, a son, on the day she died. At the time, Jane had found it quite tragic, especially given how young Charlotte had been at the time. The death, as a father, had given him cause for concern. What would happen to Charlotte if either he or Angela suddenly passed away?

Glancing to his right hand side, he spotted a fine trail of blood spots. On the wall opposite the door was an all-too-familiar smiley face, but Jane ignored it. Instead, they traced along to the white outline of a small body. The placement was in the precise place he remembered Sophia's body being. Then, he rushed to the exit, only to find it had been locked. Obviously, there was more he had to investigate, more he had to remember, before he was going to be allowed to exit this place.

Jane had long since committed the Red John case files to memory. He knew Sophia's date of birth, when and where she'd died, how many people Red John had (officially) killed prior to her death.

He was also more than aware that this was the first – and last – Red John crime scene that he had personally attended to before the death of his wife and child.

That was the importance of this specific murder and in an instant, Jane knew that that was the exact reason why Red John had wanted him to revisit it here and now.

Why else would he have picked this murder as being one worthy of attention, when he could have picked his first one? Or at least, the first person he'd killed and left the macabre smiley face beside? Jane was certain that there were more, unknown, deaths that simply couldn't be linked to him. Red John may have labeled this house as his supposed memory palace, but in reality, it appeared that this was his memories that linked to Patrick Jane and were the ones that were designed to hurt him the most.

Suddenly, his legs felt like jelly and Jane sank to his knees. What else did Red John want from him? Why had he decided that now was the time to force him to acknowledge these deaths, these memories here and now? Had he suddenly decided that Jane wasn't under enough pressure, being taunted enough? What meant it was now the time to have a much more personal assault?

He continued glancing wildly around the room from his position in a crumpled heap. Somehow, the man had managed to reconstruct it, right down to the tiniest of details. It was literally a perfect reconstruction of the original; it could have been lifted from one house and replaced in this one, item for item, right down to the blood. Jane was quietly thankful that the body - or just  _a_  body - was mercifully absent. It was bad enough that he was being forced to recall the time when he had essentially sold his family to the devil, but having more blood on his hands just so it could be that accurate? That would have been a step too far.

Slowly, his eyes focused on the television set. It was an old one; the same model that the Earnshaw family had owned back in 2003. However, it looked dated by current standards. Attached to the set was an old VHS player, and there was the single difference between the crime scene and this replica.

The VHS player had a video poking out of it.

Jane didn't need a sticker on it to know that it was essentially saying 'play me'. That Red John wanted him to see exactly what was on it. Even without playing it, he had a shrinking suspicion of what the contents of the film were. Still, he knew that he wasn't going to be allowed out of there before he endured it.

He didn't bother standing. Instead, Jane slowly crawled over to the player and with a feeling of trepidation, he lifted his hand. It dithered over the player for a second, but at the same time, he knew he was just wasting time. The sooner he got this over and done with, the better. Reluctantly, he pushed the video in and within second, the screen burst into life.

He wasn't surprised in the slightest when he saw his face fill up the screen.

_"I force myself to look into the flame and I see an image of the evil-doer, in this case, Red John…"_

This was the interview he gave precisely two nights before his family was killed.


	3. Part Two

There was a slight chill in the air. Not because it was cold; if anything it was a touch on the warm side. However, it was because of the dawning realization that, yet again, they were dealing with Red John. Lisbon didn't know whether or not to be pleased that she was right or devastated because everything had suddenly become all the more complex. Worse, it was clear from the only piece of evidence they had to hand that Red John was trying to lure them into some kind of morbid treasure hunt, as such. The last time she had been involved in one of those, she had landed up being strapped into a bomb vest and had felt the threat of death close to her heart - quite literally. That was a situation that, naturally, she wasn’t all too keen to replicate. It wasn't long before the silence grew unbearable and eventually, it was Rigsby who broke it.

Lisbon had almost expected him to be the one. A simple glance in his general direction had told her all that she needed to know. He was the one who was feeling the worst about this, she could tell. Jane's expertise had rubbed off on her, if only a little. Her capabilities when it came to reading body language had grown considerably, if only to ensure that she remained at least two steps behind Jane, rather than trailing back further and further.

"The kid, Julie Coulson's kid, she goes to the same preschool as Ben."

Van Pelt gasped audibly and Cho simply nodded in response. Lisbon frowned; somehow, she knew that could only mean bad news. Red John had clearly targeted the Coulson family for a reason, as a message to them. He must have known that the Rigsby family had connections to the Coulsons, otherwise why would he have chosen her? Of course, that didn't necessarily exclude any other motives; it just added another one to the list. At the very least, it was definitely something they needed to consider seriously while tackling this specific case.

"Right," Lisbon answered slowly. She took a couple of steps closer to Rigsby and touched him lightly on the left arm with two fingers. "You okay, Rigsby?"

"Yeah," he said, before repeating himself. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself, more than anything else.

"You sure?"

She eyed him seriously and he nodded. However, he continued to wring his hands desperately and was unable to maintain eye contact with her. Yes, she decided, he was definitely lying to her. Naturally, she refused to judge him. After all, she herself had lied about how she was feeling barely fifteen minutes earlier. Instead, she had chosen to compartmentalize her fears for Jane rather than divulge them to the others. In reality, it was for their sanity as much as her own. If she told them every single time she worried about one (or more) of them, they would have decided to either take action, or grown concerned about how fit she was for duty.

"Can I take a look at that receipt?"

"Of course.”

Without another word, Lisbon placed it carefully into an evidence baggie and then handed it over to him. His eyes darkened as dawning comprehension struck him. Van Pelt cocked her head quizzically and asked him what was wrong moments before Lisbon herself had decided she needed to know what was up.

"The code,” he whispered tentatively and all eyes fixated on him.

"Yes?"

"It's my zip code."

Rigsby clearly went into a state of panic and it was Cho who reacted first, administering first aid as Rigsby hyperventilated. Lisbon stepped up, instructing him to think about his breathing, to bear in mind that there was nothing to worry about right at that moment. When she repeated Pat's words - that it could have been merely a coincidence - Van Pelt snorted derisively and Lisbon shot her a dirty look in response. That wasn't helping the situation and Rigsby, justifiably was immensely concerned. It was hardly surprising; it was clear that the life of his child - and now, fiancée - was on the line. The sooner that they knew Sarah and Ben were safe and well, the better. It was understandable that he was reacting like this; anyone would have done if they were in his shoes at this moment in time.

Once Rigsby had managed to get control of himself, Lisbon decided quickly upon their plan of action.

"Rigsby, go home. Check on your family," she instructed; this was one of those situations which called for compassion. "When you know they're okay, call me and get back to the CBI headquarters. I want you to find out everything you can on Julie Coulson. Why was she targeted, are there any other plausible motives? Okay?"

"Yes boss," he muttered and he scurried away before she had a chance to even start talking to the others.

Cho and Van Pelt eyed each other warily. In the midst of his panic, Rigsby had dropped the receipt and it was Van Pelt who picked it up. Lisbon took a deep breath; she had to treat this like any other investigation. If she lost her head, as Jane often did whenever Red John was back on the scene, then they'd have no chance in hell of gathering any scant information from this recurrence. Red John was only human; he made mistakes and she knew that they were more than clever enough to pick them out. The only question was putting in the time and effort - and capitalizing on them before the trails became meaningless once more. They couldn't let the Coulson death become another Rebecca, another Lorelei. They had to get into action, and fast.

"Cho, I want you to go to this grocery store, find out who bought these items. It might have simply been Coulson herself, but I don't think so. If Red John was out buying groceries, then we may have a witness."

She handed the receipt over to Cho and he too, disappeared off to carry out the tasks he'd been left with. After that, Lisbon turned to face Pat, thanked her quickly for her work and made her promise to keep her up to date with whatever she found out from the body. Then, she shoved her hands in her pocket, turned to face Van Pelt and announced that they were to go and talk to the neighbors and then to Coulson's widow. As far as Lisbon was concerned, telling somebody that their loved one had been brutally murdered was always the worst part of the job. She never had any choice but to turn their life upside down, and it never really got any easier. Worse, it was suspected that the daughter was missing too. Julie's husband could have lost not one, but two people in one go.

Before they did the rounds of the neighborhood, Lisbon took a brief moment to try and call Jane. He needed to know that she’d been right, that this was an important case. That it wasn’t just another run-of-the-mill killer they were dealing with, but Red John. If she tried to hide anything relating to him from Jane, she knew he wouldn’t forgive her for it. When he stubbornly refused to answer, she scowled and pocketed her cell phone and made a mental note to try again later.

The neighbors provided little information. One confirmed that Julie had been with her daughter in the moments leading up to her death. Neither of them had left the house for two days straight. Amber Coulson had apparently been feeling unwell, suffering from a touch of head cold and thus, unable to attend preschool. Julie had been the one to take the time off work to nurse her daughter back to full health. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Lisbon realized that that meant they had to tell the husband that his wife and been killed and daughter was missing, presumed dead. As far as they knew, there had been no ransom note. And as it was Red John, it was safer to assume that the child was dead.

It also meant that Red John was changing M.O.

Whenever Red John changed M.O. and that always meant bad things. Normally, or as close to normal as it was possible to get with a serial killer, that meant he was trying to play mind games with them all. Or, it meant that he was trying to stick the knife into Jane further. The last time Red John had killed a child, it had been Charlotte Jane, after all.

And the little girl that had now gone missing had links to Rigsby's son. Lisbon could see the link all too clearly: it was just one step away from it actually being Rigsby's son. Red John seemed intent on hurting everyone on the team. It just seemed like it was a case of them each waiting their turn to be brought into center play. Lisbon knew that Van Pelt would never truly get over what had happened to her with Craig O'Laughlin, Red John had already asked for Lisbon's own head in a box. Was now the time for him to truly damage Rigsby? And why now? Was it because he was finally setting up home with Sarah? Because he was truly happy and supposedly needed to remember what the darker things in life were like?

Lisbon shook her head. These thoughts were only serving to make her feel all the more uneasy.

"Boss?" Van Pelt eventually spoke.

"Yes?"

"What do you think all this means?"

"I don't know."

"Really?"

She could tell by the tone that Van Pelt did not believe her for one second. If she hadn’t been driving, Lisbon would have taken a moment to rub her temples to clear her thoughts. Instead, she merely furrowed her brow and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Though the case had something to do with Rigsby, she swore that it had more to do with Jane. After all, it seemed all too convenient that he had been neatly cast aside just when Red John appeared to have struck again. That and he had been behaving in a particularly unusual manner of late.

“I think we need to get hold of Jane.”

“I agree,” Van Pelt said with a decisive nod. “You’re worried about him.”

“Yes, I am,” she confirmed.

xxx

It was his cell phone that eventually dragged him out of his trance. The videotape had long since stopped playing and the television screen merely showed a blank black image. Jane shook his head as he dug the offending object out of his pocket. Typically, it went to answer phone before he had a chance to take the call. However, Jane was entirely unsurprised to see that the caller was Lisbon. Of course she would have been the one to pull him out of this reverie. She was the one person he could rely on, no matter what, himself included. In a way, that made him feel somewhat better. In reality, he knew that her timing had been down to serendipity, chance, but it at least felt like she was watching out for him without even being present.  
  
He didn't bother to call her back, however. Jane already knew that she would most likely be insisting that she needed his assistance on the case - whatever it was - and that he needed to drag his sorry ass back to the CBI headquarters. Lisbon was a competent cop; she didn’t need his help on every single case thrown in her direction. It was just a simple fact that he made it a hell of a lot easier on her and she liked having him around. And she worried about him, far more than was entirely necessary. With her, it wasn’t a case of ‘out of sight is out of mind’. She probably wanted him back just so she could keep tabs on him once more.  
  
Well, that was going to have to wait. Somebody – no, Red John - had other games in mind for him. Intuitively, Jane knew he had no choice but to follow through with them. Once this house of tricks was done with him, then he could return to the land of the living.   
  
And back to Lisbon.   
  
For now, he had certain memories he was being forced to relive. 

  
When his fingers clasped around the door knob, it wasn't a surprise that he was released from this specific cage. He didn't bother to head for the front door; this first room had been there simply to set the rules of play out in the open. The exit was still firmly shut and Jane didn’t need the physical confirmation to be able to tell. Now, part of him was dreading whether or not it would ever actually be open again. Though he tried to understand the mindset of Red John, he had always remained several steps behind. How was he to know whether or not the serial killer was using this as his final hoorah?

 

Maybe this ‘memory palace’ was his way of saying goodbye to old memories, to Jane himself?

 

Jane pushed the thoughts stubbornly down. Now was not the time to be thinking like that. If it was, then he only had himself to blame. After all, he had made the executive decision to pay attention to the note. He could have just as easily ignored it. Then again, Red John clearly understood his mindset. Sooner or later, he would have made the journey out here. It simply turned out that his resolve had crumbled within two days.

Instead, he made a beeline for door number two. 

 

When the door swung open, Jane almost laughed at the sheer predictability of the second memory that Red John had selected as a part of this game. In a way, he had expected Red John to be a little more inventive in his choices, but then again, why did he need to be? It had been the best part of a decade and this specific set of murders were still the ones that haunted his scant nightmares the most.   
  
The master bedroom of Jane's family home had been recreated right down to the finest of details. Nothing was too much of an effort for an artiste like Red John. Warm morning light trickled through the curtains, though Jane already knew it was merely an effect. For a start, his cell phone informed him that it was 01.34pm. Secondly, no amount of special effects could disguise the thrumming hum of rain beating out its military tattoo outside. At some point during his revisitation of Ms. Earnshaw’s murder, the heavens had opened up. It was only the discrepancy between sight and sound that had really made Jane pulls his socks up and take note.   
  
The door slammed shut behind him. Immediately, Jane wheeled around on his heels and automatically, he tried to open it again. As expected, the door had been locked behind him. Red John had more surprises up his sleeve that he wanted Jane to uncover first, clearly. 

 

It was strange; this was probably the Red John murder that he was most familiar with. It was certainly the one he focused on the most. What new tricks were hidden inside, he didn’t know. He didn’t really _want_ to know either. As far as Jane was concerned he already knew everything he needed to know about Charlotte and Angela’s murders. There was nothing left that could change his perceived view of the murder. Obviously, Red John disagreed.

 

The words he himself had spoken on that old videotape echoed uncomfortably in his mind. Jane didn’t need reminding that it was ultimately his fault that they’d died. He was the one who had played with fire and they had gotten burned as a consequence.  
  
As he ambled around a room that was all too familiar for him, he nearly tripped over one of Charlotte's stuffed toys - an orange rabbit with a rainbow pattern on his stomach - not so inventively named 'Rainbow'. Ignoring the fact that his eyes were misting over, he picked up the poor neglected stuffed animal to scrutinize it. The thing could quite easily have been the original; Jane wasn't entirely sure what he'd done with the majority of the contents of the master bedroom after their death. The manic depression he had slipped into had stolen those memories from him and now, more than ever, he bitterly wished it hadn't. 

 

With a sigh, he placed the stuffed toy carefully down on the bed. The linen was freshly laundered, but that made very little difference to Jane. After all, the smiley face still loomed down on him aggressively. That seemed to be one feature that, thus far, was strongly present throughout this house. He hadn't been in a single area of it without its looming presence staring down at him. Red John had clearly made his mark on this property. He'd transformed it from an old dilapidated home, in need of some love and attention before it could safely become another home, into Jane's personal hell.

Then again, that was entirely the point, wasn't it? Red John had already asserted as much with his note underneath the first face.

Briefly, he wondered whether this replica smiley face was, too, painted with the blood of his wife and daughter. Jane wouldn't have put it past Red John to take a sample when he’d killed them; after all, what better way to rub salt into the proverbial wound?

Jane sat down beside Rainbow the rabbit (or at least, his identical twin). The mattress was soft and forgiving, just the way that Angela had insisted their marital bed should be. He'd never been able to stand such soft bedding, but endured it especially for her. After everything he'd put his wife through, he'd believed she'd deserved to live in the lap of luxury. She certainly didn’t deserve to die the way that she had done so. He sighed heavily; what was it he was meant to do in order to move on from this room? He knew everything about it, the contents of each draw, the clothes that hung in the closets, the way that sun basked the bed whenever they woke up. How Charlotte would come barging in at six a.m. in the morning, pushing open the oak door and shouting happily for them. Their own personal little alarm clock, he'd joked once.

Never again would he be awoken by his daughter's childish shrieks. She wouldn't demand her morning breakfast of strawberries and chocolate pancakes any more. That hadn't happened for years and yet, it still hurt as if it had happened just yesterday.

Eventually, his eyes lingered on the draws next to Angela's side of the bed. Top draw, underwear, middle, socks. He knew that by rote. The bottom contained mementoes and the like - things from their childhood, objects relating to Charlotte's birth, her diary...

Her diary. Jane had never once taken a peek in Angela's diary. Why would he have needed to when he had been able to read her like an open book? He knew when she was happy, he knew when she was sad and he could always tell how and why she was in such a mood. However, she still insisted upon writing it all down. 'I don't have a memory palace like yours, my love,' she'd said. 'I need to write things down to be able to remember them'. And he'd always respected her privacy; he wasn't going to go scrabbling through her memories, just as she wasn't allowed inside his memory palace, either. The glimpses they shared with one another were more than enough. Anything else was completely private and deserved to remain as such.

However, she was dead now. She would never know if he broke her confidence by taking a peek in her little book of notes. Jane smirked; would Red John even know that she'd kept a diary, from her youth and right up until the day that she died? Would he really have been able to keep it just that accurate? He scrambled up the bed, not particularly caring about the fact he was trailing muddy shoes across the white linen and leant down to the first draw. His hand quivered against the handle. What was he doing, why was he doing this? Surely the furniture was just for show and didn't actually contain replicas (or otherwise) of their personal possessions?

Jane opened it slowly, tentatively, with his eyes screwed tightly shut. It felt heavy to the touch, like it was filled to the brim, just as Angela's draw had been. Reluctantly, he took a glance and laying pride of place was the diary, just as it had looked ten or so years ago.

He allowed his hands to run over the smooth cover before picking it up. Silently, he told himself it had to be empty, that it couldn't be filled with things that Angela deemed important enough to record, surely.

After a few seconds of just holding the thing, he opened it. The handwriting was unmistakable. It wasn't Red John's, or anyone else's. It was too painfully familiar for that. No, this was the exact diary of Angela Ruskin-Jane. Even now, his wife's touch was familiar. In shock, he dropped the book and it fell open on the ground towards the end of the diary.

Frowning, Jane reached down to pick it up and return it to its rightful position. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the words and some choice sentences:

_I do love Patrick, but is it enough? He never listens, is so stubborn and he barely spends time with Charlotte and I. And James is so kind, so caring and is brilliant with my daughter. He understands me and shows me the love and affection that Patrick denies me. Is it really possible for me to love two men at the same time?_


	4. Part Three

When the phone call came through from Rigsby, confirming that both Sarah and Benjamin were alive and well, Lisbon let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. It didn’t necessarily mean they were out of the woods yet; the connection between the Coulsons and Rigsby’s family were all too apparent. However, it meant they had a chance to keep them safe, to ensure that no harm came to them. That was better than any potential alternative they could have considered. Van Pelt appeared just as relieved when Lisbon passed the message onto her; that was understandable. She knew that the woman was still quite close to Rigsby and doted upon his son. If anything had happened to either Sarah or Ben, Lisbon didn’t know if Van Pelt would have been able to cope. She’d been scarred by Red John enough as it was.

Cho joined them at the widow’s workplace, having gleaned very little information from the grocery store. It turned out that it had been Julie Coulson herself who had bought the powdered milk and potato chips, not Red John. The killer had just picked up the prop at the crime scene and used it for his own needs. Red herrings like that irked a little; then again, this was feeling more and more like a treasure hunt as such. Lisbon dreaded to imagine what they would discover when they reached the proverbial ‘x’ that marked the spot.

The receptionist at Russet Inc. was diligently helpful, just as expected, if a little confused as to why somebody like Bob Coulson would require a visit from the police. ‘It’s confidential’ may have brushed aside the awkward questions, but Lisbon knew that it never stopped people wondering why. Sooner, rather than later, the news that Bob’s wife had been brutally murdered and his daughter had gone missing would spread like wildfire. In a way, it made the investigation marginally easier. If people had information they could share, they’d be more likely to come forward. However, in actuality, it made things a lot more difficult for one reason or another.

Just as they entered Mr. Coulson’s office, he held up a hand to silence them as he quickly finished up his telephone call. With a smile, he turned to face Lisbon before proffering a hand which she shook firmly. He seemed to be in good spirits, which made Lisbon feel all the worse. However much she was going to turn the man’s life upside down, she knew that it was something she needed to do. It was crueler to withhold the truth from him, than it was to tell him. And besides, Bob Coulson was still a person of interest. In theory, he could even have been Red John himself, though Lisbon knew, deep down it was unlikely.

“I don’t have long,” he spoke confidently, jerking his head in the direction of the door. “How can I help you, Agents?”

Van Pelt took the initiative to close the door and offer them some privacy, though it was clear that Coulson was less than impressed at her actions. Lisbon didn’t bother to fight with the man; middle management types were all the same – had ideas above their station. They were often the worst people to deal with in cases, but that didn’t change the fact that they had a job to do.

“You may want to sit down,” Van Pelt started.

“Didn’t I already say I haven’t got all day?”

“We need to ask you a couple of questions about your wife and daughter,” Lisbon said quietly.

“Why?”

“Your wife’s dead,” Cho said bluntly and Lisbon glared at him.

Though she didn’t mind him breaking the news, he sometimes lacked the tact required when informing somebody that their loved ones had died. However, she had a feeling that it was probably exactly what Coulson needed; otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken them so seriously. Lisbon remained silent as the man finally took Van Pelt’s advice and crumpled into his chair in a boneless heap. It took him a few more seconds to actually process the news.

“How?” he gasped.

“We believe that Red John might have been involved.”

“Red John, the serial killer? No,” he said, disbelieving. “No, why would he want to kill somebody like Julie? _Everyone_ loved Julie.”

“That’s what we want to find out.”

“And what about Susie?” he asked, almost aggressive in his tone. “Who’s looking after her?”

“I’m sorry, but it appears that she has been kidnapped.”

“How can you be sure?”

Lisbon quickly and concisely relayed the brief notes she’d gathered from questioning the neighbors. That Susie Coulson had been seen carried away by a masked man wearing a baseball cap. She’d been sleeping; looked peaceful, according to the two people who had actually paid any attention. It was them that had reported that something suspicious had been occurring at the family’s residence and thus, his wife’s body had been discovered so soon after death.

When Coulson asked if a ransom note had been received yet, Lisbon confirmed that it hadn’t. Rigsby was keeping an eye on things on that front and hadn’t heard anything. She doubted that one would ever surface; as far as she was concerned, the girl was most likely already long dead. This was Red John; he didn’t mess around with kidnapping when he could just as easily kill. The only thing that made her cling onto a shred of hope that there may still be a chance of finding Susie alive was the fact she hadn’t already been killed when she’d been taken away from the crime scene.

However, she didn’t pass the hopes or fears she held onto the girl’s father, either way. It was for the best that he found his own way to cope with such a difficult situation. Coulson clearly was struggling with the two blows they’d just dealt him. He’d gone from displaying a cool, confident demeanor to simply not knowing how to react in any way.

“What’s in the safe?” Cho suddenly asked.

All eyes were drawn to the safe which was clearly displayed in the wall behind Coulson. Lisbon knew that during the questioning, he’d taken it upon himself to play Jane’s role in a room – to look for the details that didn’t quite match up with everything else. She knew that he’d learned a lot from their consultant and in a way, Lisbon was pleased about that. Just so long as he didn’t pick up any of Jane’s bad habits and started bending the law to breaking point to solve cases, she didn’t mind. However, being just that little more observant than they’d previously been would never hurt.

Coulson balked at the question, clearly not expecting to be asked such a thing. It had clearly been one of the last things he’d been expected to ask. After all, what did it have to do with the death of his wife and kidnapping of his child?

“Why?” he eventually asked dubiously.

“It looks like it’s been tampered with,” Cho answered back.

Lisbon immediately scrutinized it and she immediately came to the same conclusion. There were certain marks over the safe’s door that simply should not have been there. She smiled slightly; it was small observations like that which made Jane so useful to the team. And at least it proved they didn’t _need_ him to make breakthroughs in a similar vein to which he did.

“Um, just some money and a prototype engine we’ve been working on,” he answered with a frown. “Oh, and a bracelet from Tiffany’s I am – was – going to give to Julie on our wedding anniversary.”

“Can we take a look inside?” Lisbon asked. “Just to check it’s still all there?”

Coulson nodded, but pulled on his jacket at the same time. “Sure. The keys are in the top left hand draw. I need to go and talk to Julie’s sister.”

“Thank you,” Lisbon said as the man started heading towards the door. “And I’m very sorry for your loss.”

As soon as they heard the door slam behind them, Van Pelt made a beeline towards the desk and dragged the draw open. Immediately, she frowned before trying to rummage deeper into it. Lisbon hadn’t said a word, but as far as she was concerned, leaving the keys in a draw right beside the safe lacked a considerable amount of foresight. It was practically asking for it to be broken into. Already, she doubted that everything would be intact, despite Coulson seeming to believe it would be.

“Let me guess,” Lisbon said after Van Pelt slammed the door shut aggressively. “No keys?”

“No keys,” she confirmed dourly.

Cho was back to scrutinizing the security on the lock. As well as the padlock, there was a coding system, which Coulson had forgotten to inform them about in haste of sharing his bad news with the other relatives. If only he’d bothered to wait a few minutes and actually do the job for them instead of rushing off, it would have been a hell of a lot easier. She slid her cell phone out of her pocket and immediately dialed Jane’s number. He was a pro at picking locks and guessing codes. It wasn’t breaking and entering, she told herself; they’d been given _permission_ to have a look.

“Jane? It’s Lisbon,” she said, marginally irritated about it going to answerphone yet again. “If you were going to guess the code on a safe, where would you-“

“Got it,” Cho interrupted.

She wheeled around to see the safe door wide open and the padlock lying on the floor. Lisbon made a mental note to have words with Cho about his ability to pick locks; she hadn’t known that he’d had those skills in his arsenal. The fact that he’d guessed the code troubled her until she saw the receipt lying on Coulson’s table. So, it had doubled as Rigsby’s zip code as well as the key to getting into the safe. That was understandable.

“Never mind,” she said promptly and ended the call.

xxx

When his cell phone went off – yet again – Jane ignored it. He knew exactly who it was and once more, was more than happy to pretend that Lisbon wasn’t calling him. Instead, he remained engrossed in Angela’s diary, reading about her hurt, her frustrations, how she had slowly fallen in love with this mystery ‘James’ figure and wondered if it were possible to love two men at the same time. Jane racked his brains as he tried to work out just how Red John had managed to get a hold of Angela’s diary. Had he stolen it when he’d killed them, and Jane simply hadn’t noticed that it was gone? Or had Jane himself thrown it away in a fit of rage and Red John since scavenged it up to use in this house project of his?

Sometimes, he was glad that he couldn’t remember the worst days of his life, but on other occasions, it simply frustrated him. He simply didn’t know if it had been his own folly which had assisted Red John’s task, and therefore, he had no one but himself to blame (once more). Then again, the contents of the diary _had_ been his fault. If he’d been as attentive to her and her needs as he should have been, then he wouldn’t have received this terrible news that changed his whole perception of his relationship with his wife here and now.

It was the sound of the lock on the door clicking open that dragged Jane out of his wife's old diary. Red John had clearly decided that he'd read enough and therefore, that he was ready to move onto the next room. Instead of placing it back down into the open drawer, Jane slipped it carefully into his pocket. Whether or not Red John had stolen it from his family home, or the trash can, it was technically his possession. He'd inherited everything from his wife when she'd died and therefore, he wanted to keep it close to him.

Not because he liked the content, or the secrets that she had somehow managed to keep from him, but as a reminder.

Of his folly.

Of the same mistakes that he had made time and time again.

That he should always appreciate the women who faithfully stood by his side and never take them for granted.

And that his skills were not always as accurate as he thought they were.

He left Rainbow Rabbit in situ, however. In a way, it felt like he belonged in this room, on the replica bed he had once shared with his wife at home. That, and the thought of keeping a possession of Charlotte’s, his precious little girl's, so close to him physically hurt. There had been so much that she could have done and so much she would have given to the world. However, Red John hadn't even given her the opportunity to bloom and grow into the wonderful woman that she should have been. That, of course, would have been Angela's doing, too. Jane could never have taken any credit for their daughter's upbringing; he had been too busy earning money to keep a roof over their heads (and stoke his own ego at the same time.)

With some level of trepidation, he headed towards the third door. He dreaded what was behind this one. Each case that Red John had especially selected seemed to cut that little bit deeper into his soul and twist the knife around to make that wound all the deeper. Jane would have thought that Angela and Charlotte's death would have been the pinnacle - but apparently, he was wrong. Then again, he didn't need his skills to know that there were cases that had really hurt since their deaths. Sam Bosco, whose only wrong-doing was taking over the Red John case when the Serious Crimes Unit had been temporarily removed from it. Then there was Jared Renfrew; the man who could have so easily brought down Red John from the inside. And Kristina...

His blood ran cold. Kristina Frye was the proverbial black sheep of Red John's victims. The only one to technically still be alive, despite her conviction that she had already 'passed on'. Jane stared at the door for a good long while, as if that would help him decipher what was hidden behind it. On a whim, he rested a hand against the wood and placed an ear firmly against the door in attempt to hear if there were any signs of life within. Of course, all he could hear was the rain that was still pounding on the rooftops. Figuring that the room had most likely been soundproofed, he placed a shaking hand on the doorknob and opened the door.

When he saw Kristina herself actually sitting in the middle of a replica of her lounge, Jane was only faintly surprised. Not that she was one of Red John's chosen 'special cases', but that she herself was actually present. His breathing rate immediately quickened as he took steps towards her. Jane had kept in contact with the psychiatric unit she had been shipped off to after the CBI had finished questioning her. As it was her dalliance with him that had been partially responsible for her ending up in a catatonic state, Jane had felt obliged to take a note of her recovery. Besides, he'd had the shrinking suspicion that Red John wasn't done with her. That when she'd started to show signs of recovery, her life would have been at risk once more.

It was only a small comfort that her doctors had continually informed him that there was never any progress in her condition. And yet, here she was. Most likely because Red John had had acolytes working within the mental institution and they were able to safely smuggle her out of there and into this house.

She remained as unresponsive as ever. Kristina hadn't even appeared to notice that she had company, never mind the fact that it was _Patrick Jane_ in the room with her. Instead, she sat quietly on the couch, with her hands folded neatly on her lap. Unblinking, she stared off into the middle distance with an impassive expression written on her features. Behind her was the infamous smiley face - a feature that Jane knew for a fact was not present in Kristina's plush home. On the coffee table directly in front of her were a single unlit candle and a lighter.

Jane knew exactly what that signified and exactly what he was meant to do.

However, he couldn't resist the temptation to at least try a few other methods of rousing her from her trance. Jane knew for a fact that the suggestion that had been implanted on her was deep; that trained psychiatrists and hypnotists hadn't been able to break it, even after years of working with her. He was also more than aware of just how dangerous it was to try and break a trance without knowing precisely what the trigger was. All of that didn't stop him from trying. After all, she had been like this for years and this was the first time that she had been left (somewhat) alone in his company. Jane didn't doubt that Red John was watching his every move from somewhere close by, possibly in the attic - the only unnumbered room - and waiting for him to find out everything he needed to from Kristina.

Eventually, Jane relented and returned his focus to the candle. He knew for a fact that faking a séance was the only way that anybody had been able to successfully talk openly to Kristina. Carefully, he fingered the lighter and it didn't take long for him to allow the warm glow of candlelight to filter into the room. Jane took a deep breath, closed his eyes and focused on what he was about to say next. For years, he'd made his money by staging séances and pretending to contact the dead, but now, whenever he did so it made him feel sick to the stomach. Like there was something innately wrong about it. He knew that it was mostly because he could now see the repercussions of the life he'd once led, when back then, all he'd cared about was the cash and the fact that people loved him for it.

Now, he was going to have to put one of the dirtiest of his tricks into action in order to actually be able to find out whatever it was that Red John needed him to.

"Kristina Frye, are you there?"

"Hello, Patrick," she said softly and a slight smile suddenly appeared on her gently lit features. "It's good to hear your voice again. It's been far too long."

"You're not dead, Kristina."

"You're sweet," she answered back with a laugh. "You need to stop living in the past and learn to accept your gift."

He took hold of her wrist and was rewarded with the reassuring thrum of a steady pulse. Kristina remained oblivious to the fact that he was touching her and instead continued to stare pointedly at him. At least she was actually willing to look him in the eye, even if she was still convinced she was dead, he decided. It gave the conversation they were sharing some level of normalcy, if nothing else. Even so, he wished he could have seen at least a tiny bit of progression in her condition. For years, she had remained in this catatonic state and nobody had been able to do a goddamn thing. Despite the fact that her obliviousness had probably saved her in the long run, it didn't make it any easier to deal with.

Jane thought seriously for a second. What was it he had to learn from Kristina? Every crime scene that had been replicated had some sort of revelation hidden in it. The diary that rested heavily in his pocket was evidence enough of that. Slowly but surely, his eyes were dragged away from Kristina's face and back up at the leering eyes of the blood red face on the wall.

"Why did he want to 'kill' you, Kristina?" he blurted out, unable to stop himself from asking the question.

"I loved you, Patrick," she answered back softly. "And that is why I had to die. Why else would he have killed me?"

 

 

 


	5. Part Four

When they took the time to scrutinize the contents of the safe, it appeared that nothing had been removed. Lisbon had half expected to see a smiley face somewhere inside, at least as a sign that they were on the right track. However, it was precisely how Coulson had described it to them moments before he'd left. The only plausible explanation she could think of as to why the safe had been tampered with was to explicitly mislead them, to waste their time and energy on a useless task. At least it had only taken Cho a matter of minutes to gain access to it.

Then again, when facing Red John, every second counted and they'd already wasted a precious few on this.

Lisbon was about to turn on her heels to exit the room and announce that they were done here, when she noticed a particularly pensive expression on Van Pelt's face. She wasn't staring irritably into the safe like she and Cho had been. Instead, she was looking at the drawer which the keys were supposed to be located in.

"What's wrong, Van Pelt?" Lisbon enquired.

"Maybe it's not something missing from the safe itself," she started softly.

"…maybe the keys themselves are the lead?" Lisbon finished, wrapping her head around the concept. "Van Pelt, I want you and Cho to go talk to the nursery, see if there have been any suspicious people hanging around in the past few weeks. _I'll_ chase up these missing keys."

"Yes boss," Van Pelt muttered and Cho nodded in assent.

They left the Russet Inc. building in a somber silence. It felt like they were getting somewhere, but in reality, Lisbon suspected they weren't getting all that far. So far, each of the clues had felt all too easy to decipher, like Red John wanted them to move fast. She couldn't help but wonder what the catch was and if they were being lured into a trap. That was half of her justification for sending Van Pelt and Cho off to do something easy while she tackled the real lead. Lisbon sincerely doubted that they would pick up anything of use there, though it was possible that the nursery was the place where he'd cherry-picked the Coulson family from.

But if it was, it didn't explain why the father's safe keys were missing. Nor did it answer the question of whether or not there had been more than one set of keys on that specific chain. On a whim, she stopped by with the receptionist who was oblivious to the whereabouts of the missing keys, however was kind enough to give her the contact details of Julie Coulson's sister – who also happened to be an employee of the company. That small shred of information at least saved her from having to distract Rigsby from his paper trails.

As she drove, Lisbon found herself being plagued by thoughts of Jane. He'd ignored two of her calls now, and since the last spell where she'd heard neither hide nor hair from him, it set her nerves on edge. Though Jane had promised her that if he ever needed to disappear for whatever reason again, he would let her in on the plan, she didn't entirely believe him. After all, he had never given her cause to implicitly trust him in the past and now, she had even less of a reason to do so. Of course, the lack of trust in him wasn't enough to quell any other _feelings_ she had for him, so she still worried herself half to death. She refused point blank to call him again; that would do no good. Instead, she had to use what little patience reserves she had left and hope that he would call.

But, damn it, this was Red John. He needed to know and instead, he was off doing something entirely unrelated. Lisbon was already dreading the fallout that would inevitably occur when he discovered what he had missed out on. In those situations, he was prone to lash out at anybody, especially those closest to him, and especially her. However, Lisbon was more than aware that she had to take the rough with the smooth. Knowing Jane was never going to be an easy ride, never mind anything else she might have felt for him.

Feelings that she'd had to keep stubbornly repressed, especially with Red John breathing down their necks now more than ever.

It didn't stop the pair of them from dancing around one another, however, If anything, it had exacerbated the situation. Regardless of what happened (or not) between them, Lisbon knew that Red John was going to react one way or another. Therefore, the link to Rigsby's son hadn't come of as much of a surprise to her as it had to Rigsby himself. Red John would know full well that the thing that meant the most to her was her team, and then her family. If he really wanted to hurt her, then the best way to do it was go through her team. In reaction, she kept a closer eye on all of them, and especially Van Pelt. If the serial killer came close to _her_ again, she knew that Van Pelt would most likely shatter irreparably.

When she arrived at Jessica Adams' residence, it was almost a blessed relief. At least then, she knew she was going to be able to escape her own thoughts for a while. Lisbon knocked briskly on the door and was soon greeted with a mirror image of the vic. Jessica, the younger twin of Julie Coulson, had red rimmed eyes and her brother-in-law loitered behind her. When he spotted Lisbon at the door, he placed a slightly _too_ protective hand on Jessica's shoulder and glared bitterly at her. Briefly, Lisbon questioned just how platonic their relationship was, but cast it aside. That was the kind of crude reasoning that only Jane could get away with.

"What do you want, Agent?"

"I need to ask you a few more questions," she explained politely.

"Now?" he snapped back with a scowl. "Why can't you give our family time to grieve?"

"Yes, now," Lisbon answered back.

This man was already trying her patience. If he weren't so directly related to the victim, she would have had considerably less time for him. As it was, she knew that she had to at least keep control of her anger.

"But you've already said that _Red John_ was responsible. It's a lost cause."

"And what about the life of your daughter?" she asked.

"We still haven't received a ransom note," he said quickly, gently guiding Jessica out of the way. "Now is that all? My wife and her sister were incredibly close. Can't you _see_ she needs comforting?"

"I just have a couple more questions."

Lisbon folded her arms defensively. This man seemed to have his priorities completely skewed in the wrong direction. If any of her brother's kids were kidnapped, she would have fought tooth and nail to get them back. Bob Coulson, however, seemed to have already given her up for dead. Some people, she decided, simply didn't deserve to be parents. The ones that would actually dote upon their daughters never got a chance, or screwed it up eventually. That was something she understood all too well from experience.

Jessica, spotting the fire in both of their eyes, mercifully intervened. She refused to budge, despite her brother-in-law's insistence that she should leave this to him. Instead, she invited Lisbon in for a cup of tea and insisted that they would help with the investigation in any way they could. Lisbon was relieved; at least one of the two still had their head screwed on.

The living room was decorated in a minimalistic style and the sparse white furniture was almost blinding in a way. When offered the tea once more, Lisbon accepted it gratefully. Not because she was thirsty, but because she didn't want to give Bob Coulson an aneurysm by appearing rude by rejecting it. After taking a sip, she placed it carefully on the coffee table before withdrawing her notepad. All she could do was hope that she would get some useful information from this.

"The keys to the safe…" she started slowly.

"What about them?" Coulson asked curiously.

"They were missing."

He flew to his feet in a second, and was clearly about to fly off the handle, until a gentle touch on the elbow from Jessica calmed him down. Embarrassed, he sat back down and explained why the keys were so important. As well as offering additional security to his safe, he had been entrusted with purchasing a property on the far outskirts of Sacramento. This location was going to be used to build a factory for the company to produce its items. There was a property on the site – little more than a dilapidated shack – which they hadn't actually bothered to look around. It didn't matter what it looked like on the inside; it was going to be demolished soon enough anyway.

And they'd only just finalized the purchase recently and Coulson had picked up the keys yesterday morning from the realtor. And yet, they had already gone missing. He hadn't even had a chance to go and have a proper look around.

After a few more generic questions, mostly about Julie and Susie and why they could have been targeted, Lisbon thanked them both for their time and promptly disappeared back to the car. She rested her head briefly on the steering wheel as she tried to make sense of what she'd just learned. Just as she was about ready to put her key in the ignition, her cell phone sounded out. Lisbon's heart skipped a beat and then promptly sank when she realized it was just Van Pelt.

"Boss?" Van Pelt said, sounding slightly agitated. "We talked to the manager of the nursery. She said that a strange set of keys had been found on the doorstep."

"And?" Lisbon said irritably; she'd had quite enough of wondering about various sets of keys to last a lifetime.

"They have a key ring engraved with Russet Inc. and underneath, there's another zip code. It isn't the one to the main offices, either."

Lisbon sighed. Though this seemed like another link to add to the chain of events, she wasn't looking forward to where this one was going to lead.

xxx

Love.

Kristina had just had to mention that word, hadn't she? When Jane had spent time with her, love hadn't been on the table as far as he was concerned. No, he was intrigued by her and her conviction that she was indeed a true psychic. He enjoyed her company because she challenged him in ways that other people dared not to. And yes, she was an attractive woman, though her illness had clearly begun to take its toll on her appearance.

Then again, given the fact she was convinced that she was dead, she probably cared very little about what her body looked like. As far as Kristina was concerned, her physical remains had either been cremated or were already six feet under. Her spirit, however, remained pure and within the kingdom of God.

Yet, he knew she was still alive, could feel and observe every single sign of life. Every autonomous reaction was working perfectly normally. It was just a simple case that somebody had addled with her mind and nobody had worked the way to link her mind back in with her body.

Still, love…

She didn't seem to recall the fact that she herself had made the same fatal error that he had made on television. The moment she had taunted Red John on that chat show, Jane had feared history repeating itself. However, Kristina had no close friends or family to steal away from her. All she had was her own mind, body and soul, and Red John had stripped her away from that. Not just to punish her for her supposed wrongdoings, but also to remind Jane what happened when he let people get too close.

But he hadn't learned, he still continued to fall into the same trappings. Angela had died, so long ago now and he had still never truly come to terms with it. Kristina, well, her state of mind was pretty damn obvious.

And Jane knew he'd let _Lisbon_ fall for him as well.

Worse, the feelings were reciprocated and he hadn't done a damn thing about it. The six months he'd spent away from her had been tortuous. He'd hoped that it would anger and frustrate any feelings out of Lisbon and remind himself of what happened to the people he dared to love. Instead, he had spent many of his waking hours being plagued with guilt, knowing just how much it was tearing her apart. And of course, she had been made of stronger material than that.

She'd gone through hell and back with him in the past. Why would a little something like shutting her out scare her away?

A gust of wind came out of nowhere and the candle suddenly blew out.

That was it for this room then, he surmised.

The only light source left in the room came from behind him. Jane turned around to see the door behind him wide open. Red John was definitely keen for him to hurry up out of this room and into the next, clearly.

And for once, Jane actually found himself agreeing with the serial killer. This was already testing him far too much, almost to the extent that he wished he had a certain reassuring hand to hold. The sooner this ordeal was over, the better. If only he had been able to resist the temptation to actually follow up the letter. If only he'd brought backup, or rather, Lisbon. If only…

He'd willingly walked into this house and he had no one but himself to blame for it. Red John had left the tiniest of crumbs for him and Jane had more than happily chased them up. Mentally, he was kicking himself for being so stupid.

As he walked back out to the hallway, his eyes were immediately drawn to the hatch for the cellar. The first three rooms had been awful for very different reasons and each one settled uncomfortably in his stomach. Building them on top of one another seemed to make the situation feel all the worse. He dreaded to imagine what was in there. Jane decided to give the hatch a cautionary tug just to see what would happen. He knew that he would be quite happy to skip out the fourth room altogether. His experimentation was rewarded with a short electrical shock.

Jane yelped, took a step back and started sucking on his fingers. It served him right really. This was Red John's memory palace, as he was clearly reminded of each time he was in this no man's land between the rooms. He didn't get to decide the rules; Red John did. Just as he'd done so ever since he'd gotten the letter delivered to Jane through the CBI.

With a sigh, he headed towards the fourth room. The door swung open easily and it was brightly lit.

The first thing his eyes were drawn to, as always, was the smiley face on the wall. The blood was still wet; it had been painted merely minutes beforehand. When he eventually had the confidence to draw his gaze away from it and to the floor, he was greeted with a small blonde girl with a mass of curls.

She was still breathing, if only just.

Red John hadn't delivered the killing blow to end the girl's misery. Instead, he'd left her to bleed out in the middle of this lounge setting.

Jane's eyes scanned around the body. There was _so much blood_ , especially for a girl so small.

Worse, she looked precisely like a younger version of Charlotte.

Instinct told him to rush to the girl's side, to cradle her, to whisper comforting white lies down her ear. Everything's going to be fine, we'll get a doctor to you, I'll find your mommy and daddy.

But there was too much blood. This girl wasn't going to make it out of this room alive. Jane knew enough about death to know that she was barely minutes away from it.

Fighting against the desire to vomit, Jane took a step closer to the girl. Tentatively, he knelt beside her and that was when her tear stained eyes fluttered open. With a nervous hand, Jane reached out to stoke the blonde curls, though he remained silent. He could only hope that the small comfort he was capable of offering would give her at least a little peace in her dying throes.

"Hurts," she murmured, if only just.

"I know," Jane replied quietly. "I know. What's your name?"

"Su- Susie."

"Susie. That's a pretty name. Do you like the beach, Susie?"

It was barely perceptible, but she nodded ever so slightly. Jane let out a shaky sigh of relief. He knew what he had to do, how to make her forget about the pain as she died. It was the only way he could think of to make it easier on young Susie as the life slipped out of her.

"Imagine you're on a beach, Susie. You're sitting in the sunshine next to your mommy. There's sand beneath your feet. It's wet and tickles your toes. Can you feel it, Susie?" he asked and was rewarded with another small nod. "You can hear the waves as they come in and out, in and out. The waves make loud crashing noises as they roll in and out, in and out. There's the sound of the seagulls calling as the waves keep crashing in and…"

He trailed off as her eyes closed shut. Susie was so painfully young; of course it was going to be easy to put her into a light trance state. Still, he sat quietly beside her, watching her as she breathed in and out, in and out until finally, she breathed in one last time, but not out once more. That was it; she was gone.

Jane blinked rapidly. He couldn't let himself cry, however desperately sad it was that Red John had brutally murdered another child, just to make him watch as she took her last painful breaths. Instead, he knew that he had to channel his sadness, his frustration, his anger. He needed to get out of here and pass what he'd learned onto Lisbon. Before he stood, he noticed that she was holding onto something in her hands – two human fingers.

Once more, he felt sick to his stomach.

He remembered a previous instruction from Red John to Lorelei: _cut off two of his fingers, doesn't matter which_.

But that didn't answer whose fingers they were.

Now that she had died, Jane took the chance to really take in his scenery. The room was unfamiliar, though it was warm and cozy. This was a Red John crime scene he was not familiar with and he could only presume it was a new one. One that had just happened, while he was busy in here. He pulled out his phone and stared at it. Was that why Lisbon had been trying to frantically get a hold of him? Jane knew she worried about him at the best of times, despite him telling her not to.

Just as he was toying with the idea of calling her back, his eyes were drawn to the photographs on the mantelpiece. It was decorated with many pictures of young Susie, some with her mother, whom she bore a distinct resemblance to. Was she the owner of the fingers that Susie was clasping, he wondered?

Then, another picture caught his attention.

It was of Susie again, but this time she was with a distinctly familiar young boy.

Benjamin Rigsby.


	6. Part Five

Lisbon headed straight back to the CBI headquarters, where she knew that the rest of the team had reconvened. Now that Cho and Van Pelt had gotten ahold of this mystery set of keys, she knew that she needed to see them for herself. She had no doubt that they had passed through Red John's hands; why else would they have been so important? Why else would they have been stolen? There must have been something he was trying to hide in that house, otherwise why would he have gone to all that effort to retrieve them once more?

Then again, why hadn't Red John brought the property outright? It was a well-known fact that he had money resources, and he'd purchased land in the past. Why hadn't he bothered to legally obtain this site? Was it because he was hoping to use the purchaser as an unwilling victim, just to add some more 'excitement' into his life?

Was that why the Coulson family had been targeted?

When she walked into the bullpen, the rest of the team were already sitting at the silver conference table, awaiting her arrival. They were in silence and each studiously studying the files placed in front of them. Despite being alone in the office, Rigsby clearly hadn't been resting on his laurels. He'd been cross-referencing their current case with all previous encounters with Red John, as well as looking into the Coulson family's credentials.

Before she even had a chance to ask where they had gotten up to with the case, he handed her a thin file. Frowning, Lisbon leafed through the sheets of paper, trying to absorb the information as quickly as feasibly possible. She didn't need to read it in detail to realize that the family had serious financial issues, that much was obvious just from a brief glance. Though it wasn't a major discovery, it did explain why they were more likely to cross paths with Red John.

It didn't explain, however, why Coulson had believed he had the money to be able to afford a bracelet from _Tiffany's_ for his wife.

"I think the victim was trying to hide the money issues from her husband," Van Pelt prompted when asked.

"Other moms at the nursery confirmed it," Cho added. "And the manager stated that they owed money."

All eyes focused on Rigsby, who squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. All three of them were more than aware that he was familiar, friendly even, with the family. If anyone was going to have any idea about the validity of these claims, then Rigsby was the one most likely to know.

"She said she was struggling to pay the food bill, once," Rigsby eventually said slowly. "I offered Julie money, but she refused to take it. She said her husband would never let her accept it."

"Anything else you can think of?"

Rigsby, still clearly embarrassed, quickly described an incident where Julie had picked up her daughter from the nursery the previous week. She'd apparently been drunk and clearly stressed out. Her appearance was dirty and unkempt. The only reason Rigsby had especially noticed the difference was because he hadn't seen her for over a month; the father had been picking up and dropping off young Susie at the nursery in the meantime. When Rigsby had prompted her for information as to what had happened to her, she had just snappishly told him to mind his own business.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Lisbon asked, a little irritated by his lapse in judgment.

"Sorry, boss, I should have but…"

"I know, I'm sorry Wayne," she said softly. "You were worried about your own family."

"Yes, boss," he agreed quietly.

"And what about the set of keys? Any luck on finding out the zip code?"

Cho nodded and handed them to her in an evidence baggie, along with the location of the property in question. According to the map that Cho had printed out, the building was on a large site on the outskirts of Sacramento. Though it was clearly a strong lead, there was something about it that was irritating her. Though it was obviously a Red John case, he was clearly messing around with his M.O. too much and as far as Lisbon was concerned, that simply spelt out trouble.

"Don't you think this all seems a little too… easy?" Lisbon eventually said.

"Yes," Van Pelt replied while Cho and Rigsby merely nodded in assent.

She was relieved that, at least, they seemed to agree with her. It was a comfort to know that they were just as worried and intrigued as she was about the situation. Even so, a lead was a lead and it still needed investigating. Lisbon stood and pocketed the keys before looking at each member of her team seriously.

"I'm going to check it out. Van Pelt, I want you to come with me," she instructed and Van Pelt practically jumped to her feet. "Cho, I want you to talk to Coulson again. Find out how much he knows about the financial difficulties and why he's been withholding information from us. He may behave a little difficultly."

"You want me to stay here, boss?" Rigsby piped up.

"Yes," she answered back. "But one more thing; have any of you heard from Jane?"

Her heart sank when she heard a chorus of 'no **'** s' responding to her question. She hadn't expected any of them to have heard from him; after all, they had remained fairly aloof from him since his most reckless plan involving Red John. Lisbon couldn't blame them for that in the slightest. However, Jane had successfully managed to lure her straight back in. Silently, she decided that was because they always worked far better together, though in reality, the reasoning was far deeper than that.

Van Pelt asked if she could drive, and Lisbon accepted the offer. She was feeling too distracted to be in charge of a vehicle, anyway. And besides, they knew that they didn't have to travel all that far, just a few miles out of the center of the city. As soon as they were on the move, Lisbon regretted her decision. Her mind was whirring fast, as thoughts of whatever trap they were walking into grew more horrific and macabre. Driving would have provided her with the ideal distraction from an overactive imagination. Despite that, she remained silent and instead, tapped her finger impatiently.

"You need to stop worrying about him, boss," Van Pelt said eventually. "Jane can look after himself."

"I'm not worried."

"Yes, you are. It's obvious."

"He should be here; this is Red John," Lisbon asserted.

"I know," Van Pelt agreed, "but making yourself sick because of him won't do anyone any good."

Lisbon frowned and refused to answer. Though Van Pelt had made a valid point, she knew it wasn't as simple as that. There was a justifiable reason for concern, and besides, it was something that was in her blood. She couldn't just switch it on or off. And anyway, as good as she was at giving instructions, Lisbon was ten times worse at accepting them, even if they were common sense.

Thirty seconds later, her cell phone started to ring. This was appearing to be one of those cases where they were determined to make their phone bills as high as possible. Despite that, Lisbon appreciated the technology. It meant they could work through cases a lot faster than they had been able to before cell phones had been developed. When she saw that the caller was Jane – finally –she froze for a second. As soon as she had gathered up her senses, she promptly answered it, hoping that her dithering hadn't caused him to give up contacting her.

"Jane, what's wrong? Where are you?" she said, rushing as she did so.

"You're alright?" he asked, sounding as worried as she felt.

Her frown deepened. "Of course I am, but you didn't answer my question."

"I'll be with you as-"

The line cut off and Lisbon briefly glanced at Van Pelt. She didn't need to say a word, but Lisbon could see the look of worry etched in her features. There was little doubt that it was reflected in her own as well. Hearing Jane's voice had done nothing to quell her fears; if anything, it had exacerbated them. It had been a long while since Lisbon had last heard Jane so harried. Every time she heard _that_ voice of his, she knew that if she heard it again, it would be too soon.

Van Pelt pushed on the gas pedal just that little bit harder and for once, Lisbon was under no inclination to argue about breaking the speed limit. They were close to the house now and for some reason, Lisbon had an inkling that that would be where they found Jane, too.

And if she was right, that could only mean bad things.

Red John was strongly connected with this property. That meant Jane could quite possibly have been lured there and for what? She scarcely wanted to think about it.

It was a blessed relief when the house came into sight. Just as Coulson had described, it was little more than a dilapidated shack, apparently fit for destruction only. Considering it was technically on the outskirts of Sacramento, it felt like there was nobody else for miles. If she hadn't felt so tense, Lisbon would have considered this piece of real estate to be quiet and peaceful. Instead, she was hoping that Jane would come bursting out of that door at any given second.

Instead, Van Pelt slammed on the breaks and the car came screeching to a halt, just as the house practically exploded and became engulfed in flames before them.

xxx

Carefully, Jane placed the photograph back on the mantelpiece and took a step back.

He didn't like the link to Rigsby's son in the slightest, but that was something he knew he had to take into account later. First, he had to get out of here.

But before that, Jane knew that Red John wouldn't let him leave without taking a peek in the basement first.

Taking care not to step on little Susie, Jane maneuvered himself around the room. He paused by the couch and on a whim, pulled the comforter off of the back of it. Jane knelt beside the little girl, brushed the curls away from her face and then gently draped the long material over her tiny form. There hadn't been any need for him to act in such a way, but Jane had felt compelled to. At least now, she looked more like she was peacefully sleeping than had just died from severe blood loss.

"Sleep well, Susie," he muttered quietly.

The door was already unlocked by the time he slipped out. Instinctively, he shut the door quietly, as if he was trying not to disturb the young girl. Jane knew that it was impossible to wake the dead, but he couldn't change the habit of a lifetime. He'd gotten so used to slipping out of room's where children were sleeping after Charlotte's birth, but like his little girl, Susie was never going to wake up again.

Jane shook his head as he tried to recollect his thoughts. Four down, one to go, he considered. He'd gotten the majority of it over and done with, but he didn't doubt that Red John had presumably had a few more tricks up his sleeve.

Three of the rooms had been stuck in the past, and the fourth the present. What did that mean about the fifth, the basement? It wasn't on the same level as the other rooms, which spoke volumes. It was darker, underground. Jane wondered if he was about to get a glimpse of what was yet to come. If he was, then Red John's planning was almost Dickensian in his styling. He wouldn't put it past him; Red John did seem to have quite the affinity to the classics.

He could have dithered, but instead, Jane made a beeline straight for the hatch daubed with the number five. The incorrigible itch had returned; he was desperate to know what was hidden behind the final door. Mostly because he had a feeling that it was going to be the one that revealed the most about Red John's psyche. The first three had been a macabre trip down memory lane, along with a few home truths he'd have rather not have discovered. In comparison, the fourth was bitterly sad, but he hadn't gleaned much new information from it. Jane already knew that Red John kept an eagle eye on him and the team; the connection between Susie and Benjamin Rigsby hadn't been _that_ shocking, in retrospect.

This time, the moment his fingers came into contact with the handle, it didn't give him an electrical shock. The hatch was heavy, but Jane successfully managed to pull it open. Tentatively, he peered down inside it, trying desperately to see what was waiting down there for him. Unfortunately, beyond the wooden and almost rotted wooden staircase, he couldn't see a thing. With a sigh, he carefully eased himself into the hole and holding tightly onto the bannister, he made his way down the creaky steps.

Once his foot hit the floor safely, Jane was relieved. He'd doubted whether or not it would be able to hold his bodyweight. Taking a deep breath, he felt along the wall, trying to find a light switch. As soon as he did, the room slowly but surely started to illuminate. When the lights were bright enough, it was clear to see exactly where he was. There was just a stud partition wall in front of him, painted in a standard magnolia, with a single door in front of him. Jane frowned. This wasn't exactly what he had expected.

To the left and the right of the door, there were two boards, not too dissimilar to the ones they used at the CBI headquarters for working out case timelines and other important details. Jane stared at the one on the left first. It featured photographs of Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho in miscellaneous situations, both at work and at leisure. Family and friends of each individual featured were in some of the shots too. Each picture had been meticulously recorded, including the date, time and location it had been taken in. Once he tore himself away from it, he spent some time looking at the board on the right. This one was significantly larger than the other, and prominently featured photographs of himself, but mostly Lisbon.

That was the first disconcerting fact about this place.

After studying the pictures, many of which were of times he clearly remembered, Jane returned his attention to the door. There was no painted number on this one and no smiley face either. It looked perfectly innocuous and harmless, but that was what made it all the more disconcerting. Jane figured there was no reason for this door to be locked. The hatch above him had been closed while he'd been distracted with the photographs.

And once one door closed, another one usually opened.

It didn't stop him from touching it tentatively, however. Despite his conditioning, Jane was relieved when the door eased open slightly.

He was less relieved when he saw what the door had been hiding.

And that was when Jane's heart stopped for half a second.

This place was familiar, painfully so. Just yesterday evening he had been safely within the four walls of the CBI headquarters and now, he was in at least a fairly accurate replica of it, albeit, underground. Nervously, Jane took another couple of steps forwards. To the left, would ordinarily have been the bullpen, but instead, a canvas image of it had been erected behind a glass wall. Even pictures of Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho had been slotted neatly inside, making them appear to be working studiously hard.

Directly in front of him was the door to Lisbon's office.

The blinds were all tightly shut; something which Jane knew was a rarity.

It was with quite some trepidation that he walked steadily across the wooden floorboards and to the precise replica of Lisbon's office door. Jane paused before he even dared to open and allowed his hand to run over the inscription of her name. It was all too familiar; if he hadn't known he was miles away from the headquarters (and underground), Jane would have believed he were actually in the building.

As he swung the door open, it creaked ever so slightly on its hinges.

The first thing he saw, yet again, was the smiley face. That was something he'd come to expect. With a deep breath, Jane took a step forward and into the room. Slowly, he turned on his heels to take everything in. There were exact copies of all of Lisbon's possessions, including her chess board, her certificates, even the photographs she kept of her old dogs.

And slouched over at the desk was a macabre effigy of Lisbon herself.

It was without irony, that Jane noted the head had been made out of a honeydew melon. He knew precisely where Red John had gotten that idea from.

Except, 'she' wasn't dressed in her usual work attire; the jeans, blouse and smart blazer she normally wore had been proverbially thrown out of the window. No, the Lisbon doll had been dressed in an ivory wedding gown, with a veil obscuring the face. Curious, Jane took a few steps closer to it, with his heart pounding violently against his ribcage. The doll's left hand wore two rings on the wedding finger. Her 'body' was covered in cuts, complete with fake blood. The style of cutting mimicked Red John's normal procedure perfectly.

The computer screen was lit brightly; Jane was faintly surprised that this cellar had electricity at all. Even so, he couldn't resist taking a peek at what was written on the screen.

' _Dare you risk it, Mr. Jane?'_

The words were repeated over and over. This message couldn't have been portrayed any clearer.

If he and Lisbon were to dare get any closer, _this_ was what the future entailed.

Jane scrabbled desperately in his pocket for his cell phone and instinctively dialed Lisbon's number. As he waited for the thing to connect, he paced irritably around the office. She'd wanted him to call her back urgently, and now, he had the incentive to do so, but it didn't appear like she was ready to pick up.

When he finally heard her voice after the fifth ring, it was a blessed relief.

The tone of her voice suggested that she was frantic with worry for his safety. However, he could safely say that the feeling was entirely mutual. She was confused by his worry, but there was time to explain later. This was something that he needed to explain to her face to face. Just as he was about to do so, the line went dead.

Had his phone ran out of battery? No, just lost the signal, damn thing. It was most likely because he was underground and therefore, the service was compromised. Jane scowled; talking to Lisbon, even for a brief moment, had been a comfort, of sorts. She was still alive, she was still well. And that was the main thing. Red John hadn't decided to prey on her before anything happened between them, just to stick the knife in that little bit deeper.

It was tempting to throw the cell phone to the ground in sheer frustration, but instead, he managed to exercise a modicum of control and pocket it instead. He took a minute or so to start to regulate his breathing. This situation that Red John had portrayed, it was avoidable. Jane knew he could do something about it. Then again, he also was more than aware that Red John had been developing a dangerous fascination with Lisbon. Who was to say that he would be able to regulate his temptation and instead, just kill her anyway?

Just as he was about to exit the replica office and make his way back outside, there was an almighty explosion that echoed around him.

And then, everything went black.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"How is he doing?"

Lisbon had been awkwardly dozing in a plastic formed chair, but jumped at the sound of a familiar voice. Within seconds, she was on her feet and shook Director Gale Bertram's hand firmly. She hated appearing so unprofessional in front of him, but it had been a long day and long night. In fact, she was faintly surprised to see him here at gone one a.m.

"Fine, he's sleeping," she answered dubiously.

"We were lucky to pull him out of there alive. "

"I know," she answered somberly.

Lisbon nodded her head ever so slightly in respect as they fell into a restive silence. It had been such a long while since the director of the CBI had last had cause to speak to her. The previous occasion, she had very nearly lost her job. Now, he was talking to her as if she were an old friend. It was disconcerting, but reassuring. The CBI hadn't given up hope on Jane.

"And what about Grace Van Pelt?"

"She's being treated for smoke inhalation. She should be back to work within a week."

"Don't push her too fast, Agent," Bertram stated warningly.

Despite appearances, he did at least seem to care about the entirety of his workforce. It was something that Lisbon respected deeply in him. Not everybody would put the effort into learning the names of members of individual units. Then again, the Serious Crimes Unit was notorious for causing trouble, especially with Patrick Jane involved. It was only natural that he knew each and every one of them because of that.

"I won't, I promise..."

"You need to question Jane as soon as possible," he instructed, cutting her off.

It hadn't taken Bertram long to get back to the subject of Jane and Lisbon knew that this was his real reason for his appearance so late at night, especially when he could theoretically have left it until morning. Cho had probably been the one to update him, to tell him that Jane had nearly died chasing up a Red John lead.

That was a lead that would quickly get cold if they didn't hurry up and follow it through.

However, Lisbon had no intentions of pushing Jane into talking. She could sense that his mind was already in a fragile state and she didn't want to be the one to push him over the edge again. What he needed was plenty of time, rest and support and she was willing to offer him all three. Besides, with Rigsby and Cho, she had managed to piece together a lot of the case without Jane's assistance. How the wife had fallen into gambling, trying to claw in money whenever she could. That she had probably come into Red John's radar because of that. How the husband was actually intending to hand her the bracelet as a leaving present; he was deeply in love with Julie's twin. And that information, in turn, had probably gotten back to Red John, and he'd wanted to seek revenge on the family as a consequence.

It didn't explain exactly why Red John had wanted Jane at that property, though. However, she had a feeling that it was something that she didn't need to know as soon as feasibly possible. It wasn't going to bring the Red John case forward or result in an arrest.

"He's been through a major trauma," she answered back stiffly.

"I know, but how useful will that information be in a week's time when Red John has gone back underground?"

"Understood."

He swiftly bid her farewell and swiftly walked away. Lisbon had already decided that she was going to take Bertram's advice with a pinch of salt. Red John, after all, usually disappeared as quickly as he emerged. Whatever Jane knew, it was probably already too little, too late. The lead probably wasn't _going_ cold; it was most likely already frozen over.

And she knew (or at least, hoped) that Jane would talk to her when he was ready and not a moment sooner.

xxx

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Lisbon said softly, almost teasingly, in a way.

Jane squinted at the bright lights that had enveloped him since waking. The stench of disinfectant was getting up his nose and he crinkled it in irritation. He could only vaguely recall coming into hospital, the endless tests and the treatment. Despite that he couldn't remember exactly why he was here, what had happened to him which meant he'd required hospitalization. The last thing he could remember seeing was that awful effigy of Lisbon in the fake-office.

The fake-office that was in the house Red John had nicknamed a memory palace, where each room was filled with a different nightmare.

He shuddered.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

Jane nodded and Lisbon quickly handed him a glass of water. He'd have preferred tea, but realized that this was probably the better option at this moment in time. It didn't take him long to drain the plastic cup of fluid and hand it back to her. Lisbon smiled weakly in response. Thankfully, it appeared that she had gotten out of the situation completely unscathed. However, she appeared completely drained and Jane doubted that she had actually slept the night before.

Then again, that wouldn't have been surprising. She hadn't told him the details of the case she'd been working on yet, but Jane had already gathered it had been pretty important. And on top of that, he knew Van Pelt had been hospitalized too.

He paused for a second. Red John had lured them there, to the house. He'd wanted them to watch it burst into flames with him trapped inside.

Had Red John wanted him to survive, or for Lisbon to witness his death?

Whichever, there seemed to be no positive outcome out of this scenario.

"How long have I been asleep for?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"A couple of hours, maybe?" she answered, unsure. "Not that long."

"Oh."

It had certainly felt longer than that. The house filled with dirty tricks felt like a lifetime away, even though he could remember each room clear as day. The Earnshaw murder, the first one he'd consulted on. His wife and daughter's. Kristina. Little Susie. Lisbon…

"Was there anyone else..?" he started.

"They've only pulled out one more body. A small girl," she interrupted quickly. "Her father's been notified."

"Good."

"You watched her die, didn't you?"

"I got there too late to save her," he answered quickly, keen to defend himself. "That was a part of his plan."

Jane knew that he didn't have to say any more than that for her to understand. She nodded gently in response and once more, that wave of relief crashed over him. Except, once it had washed away, it left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. _Dare you risk it, Mr. Jane?_

He was relieved when Lisbon broke the moment to pull something out of the cabinet beside his bed. It looked a little worse for wear, but for the most part, completely intact.

"I got this from your jacket pocket," she said and handed him the diary. "I haven't looked."

"I know. Thank you, Lisbon."

"Bertram wants me to interview you."

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't," Lisbon answered obliquely.

Tentatively, she wrapped her fingers around his hand and squeezed them gently. Jane could only smile weakly in response. They'd been treading into dangerous waters for some time now, and Red John was painting it more and more obviously just what he had planned for them. But he felt tired and drained. All he wanted to do was shut off from the world and stop thinking about it, if only for a short while.

He knew that soon, he would have to tell her the precise details of exactly what he had seen in that house before it had been destroyed. Jane could tell that she was intrigued, and not just for work purposes either.

But first, he wanted to make sure he had a plan of action.

And to ensure that said plan guaranteed that Lisbon would get through this all safely.

xxx

He stood outside in a cleaner's uniform, holding tightly onto a mop and bucket. It had been all too easy to appear to be any old member of staff in this hospital; security was really that lax. With a small smile, he paused outside of the private room just to glance inside at the inhabitants.

Just as he'd expected, she was by his side, clinging hold of his hand for dear life. It seemed like she expected him to disappear if she didn't hold tightly onto him.

Everything had worked out to perfection. He couldn't have hoped for it to work out any better than it had done so.

And he could just tell that the wheels had been set in motion for the next stage of his plan.

Patrick Jane would fight against it; plenty of seeds had been planted in his head, but the two of them had always had that sense of inevitability. In order to push them closer together, they needed to be pulled apart first.

What was yet to come would be here soon. And there was nothing that Patrick Jane could do to stop it.

end


End file.
